


A Question of Loyalty

by Khaleesi_of_Assassins



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: (in later chapters), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Betrayal, During Canon, F/M, NSFW in later chapters, Politics, Pre-Star Wars: The Force Awakens, Romance, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-25 11:14:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22191355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khaleesi_of_Assassins/pseuds/Khaleesi_of_Assassins
Summary: Your whole life has been war. Serving on the front lines, rising through the ranks of the First Order you have earned a reputation as one of the finest strategists in the regime. Whether you meant it or not, this has attracted some attention. You are made the second in command of General Hux, and you are forced into the unfamiliar world of High Command. It will weigh your duty against your beliefs, testing you, your commitment and above all, your loyalty.
Relationships: Armitage Hux & Reader, Armitage Hux/Reader, General Hux/Reader
Comments: 28
Kudos: 126





	1. Vanguard

The sun was just beginning to rise when the battle ended.

If the brief firefight you had just been in could really be called a battle.

You had once heard that a dozen fighters from any planet were worth a single Stormtrooper. You had served long enough to know that it certainly didn’t hold true for every soldier wearing the armor. Even training, reliable weapons and armor weren’t enough to win every battle. 

Fortunately, your men had more than just good weapons and armor; they had a ruthless creativity that had been too much even for the dozens of Resistance fighters stationed here. 

Smoke swirled into the sky, colored gold by the newly breaking day. _Lots_ of smoke. That coupled with the smell of the nearby swamp produced a very . . . _particular_ aroma. You took a hand away from your blaster rifle to wave some of it away, trying to get a better look at the scene around you. “Damn, Sparks,” you threw a look over your shoulder at the armored woman trailing you. “I think we could do with more fire, next time.”

Your appropriately named demolitions expert snickered through the comm link you shared. “Say what you want, Boss, but we came out on top. I’d call that a good day’s work.”

“Sure,” another, gruffer voice chimed in, “if you’re not the one in charge of cleanup.” Longshot – or ST-4862, by official records – kept no sarcasm out of his voice. It was a welcome change from when you first met him; one might have mistaken him for a droid, then. But then, most of your squad had been like that when you were first assigned.

You could still remember the day you met them, each of them reading off their ID numbers and specializations like they were off a cargo manifest. It hadn’t taken long for you to decide that numbers wouldn’t do.

So, over years of service together, each of them had earned themselves a name. It was an untraditional practice for a Captain of the First Order to name their troops. But then you were an untraditional leader to begin with.

You supposed that most First Order officers wouldn’t have approved of your most recent strategy, either; a covert mission to destroy a Resistance weapons cache before their fighters had a chance to use them. No, _most_ First Order officers would have landed troops the minute they caught wind of the rebels. Victory through force and power. Your style had never been quite so flashy as all that. All present evidence to the contrary.

Still, the rebels had gone down without much of a fight – most of them having been asleep when you gave the order to attack. Having no weapons hadn’t helped them, either.

One more victory for Umbra Squadron, another notch to put in your armor.

“Brass,” you called, pleased when the soldier in question snapped to attention. RK-1861, though you had long since forgone the number. Even with his helmet, you knew that his eyes were fixed on you, awaiting your command. Ever the loyal – if outspoken - second. “Make sure you sweep for any stragglers. And we’ll check for any weapons that survived, we could make use of them.”

He nodded, the light reflecting off his bone-white helmet. “Yes sir. I’ll have Gauze see to the men as well.”

“Anything bad?”

“No, just a few burns and scrapes. Lucky those Resistance boys can’t aim worth a damn.”

You spared a laugh. “Well, that’s what happens when you have an army of farm boys.”

“And yet,” Gauze, your medic snickered from beside one of her comrades, “those farm boys managed to land a few shots.” She was applying a kolto injection to his arm, though her comment earned a groan - and what you were sure was a glare from behind the man’s helmet.

“That’s what happens when you’re up front doing your job,” Shiv – the man being tended to - hissed, though there was no _real_ malice in his words. Post-battle banter was practically a tradition among Umbra Squad - the result of years of service together and a reputation as some of the First Order’s best.

Another aspect of your service that the First Order would likely frown upon. Still, it helped you stave off the thought of war, if only for a time.

A time that would be cut short, if the shuttle looming on the horizon was any indication.

“We’ve got incoming,” Brass radioed in, and you nodded.

“I see them. Friendlies, by the looks of it.” Even so, your men were at the ready, blasters in hands and eyes fixed on the ship descending in front of you.

You stepped forward, trying to get a better look as the craft moved steadily closer. With the light of the rising sun, you could indeed make out the flying stripes of the First Order. You were about to give the order to make contact when your comm buzzed with a new frequency. An accented voice cut over a light static. “Umbra Squadron, this is shuttle Hyperion preparing to land. Is the zone clear?”

“We read you, Hyperion,” you affirmed, making your way towards the only opening on the smoldering lading pad you stood on. “Landing zone is clear of hostiles. You’re clear to proceed, over.”

Footsteps let you know that one of your men was by your side. The gruff voice told you that it was Brass. “We didn’t call for extraction yet,” he mused, not hiding his suspicion. “And that’s not a troop carrier, they didn’t bring reinforcements.” _Not that we would need them,_ went unspoken.

Still, he was right. There was no reason for this shuttle to be here – even less so considering that this landing zone had been hot not an hour ago.

_Something_ was going on.

“Well, I’m sure we’ll have an explanation soon,” you huffed, holstering your weapon as the shuttle came into clearer view.

It made a graceful landing - especially considering the swamp surrounding it - swooping through the trees and spinning so its docking ramp faced you. With a mechanical groan, the ship landed; its ramp extending with a hiss.

You saluted as its occupants came down towards you, an officer flanked by six Stormtroopers. Their armor was a pristine white, free of any burns or blaster marks. These were fresh troops, then, likely serving aboard a ship. Their officer wore no armor, his pale face and dark hair visible to you. He was young. He eyed the scene around you with a cautious sort of reverence before settling his gaze on you. You didn’t recognize him, but his uniform let you know that you were speaking to a lieutenant.

“Captain,” he greeted, practically bursting with decorum.

“Lieutenant,” you let your eyes follow the Stormtroopers he brought with him as they fanned out, beginning to make their way through the wreckage of the base’s landing platform. “What brings you to Hutta?”

The young officer attempted a smile. “You, sir. I’ve been assigned to bring Umbra Squadron with me to the _Finalizer_.” He must have known you would pry, because he answered your question before you had the chance to ask it. “By order of the Supreme Leader.”

You nodded, thankful for your helmet hiding your confusion. “Did he mention what this was about? I received no word of any orders from High Command.”

The Lieutenant looked positively scandalized that you even thought to ask. “I . . .” he stammered, “it is not up to me to question the Supreme Leader’s orders. I am simply carrying them out.”

_A fancy way of saying he didn’t know, then._

Still, you were in no better position to question orders than he was. “Alright,” you glanced behind you towards where the new Stormtroopers were setting to work. “I trust Commander Bryce has already been informed? I’m sure he would be interested to know that his operation was carried out smoothly, lieutenant . . .”

He caught on to your inquiry and answered with his name. “Mitaka.” You nodded, noting your men moving in behind you. _Mitaka_ noticed too, if his eyes flickering over your shoulders was any indication. “Yes, he was given word shortly before we arrived.”

“Good,” you nodded. Your CO wouldn’t be thrilled to have his special forces snatched out from under him, but he would at least have the gratification of knowing that you had succeeded. That might help his mood. “Alright, Umbra,” you turned, pleased to find your entire squad assembled, “you heard the man. Let’s move out.”

There were no questions, no witty remarks following this order. Had they been on more familiar ground, you were sure that Brass would have asked for more details, or Shiv might have cracked a joke at the lieutenant’s expense. But whatever was going on, orders directly from High Command were seldom a good thing, and each of your men knew it. So, as you boarded the shuttle none of you spoke a word until you were all seated and the ship was taking off.

Then, with as much subtlety as a Stormtrooper could muster, Longshot whispered to you over your comms. “What do you think’s going on, Captain?”

“I don’t know,” you kept your voice low, “but it’s important enough to collect us in person.”

“Maybe we’re to get medals.” With her refined sense of sarcasm, it was difficult to say whether Sparks was being serious or not. Still, something told you that she was wrong.

The rest of your squad took turns making bets and assumptions, trying to piece together what this could be. All but your sergeant, who remained uncharacteristically quiet. 

“Brass,” you intercut the quiet chatter, “what’s your take?” 

Your second turned his head towards where Mitaka and his pilot sat. Then, back to you. “Permission to speak freely, sir?” 

“Always,” you nodded. 

“We’ve been picking fights with the Resistance more and more. Command must be gearing up for something, and with our track record, I’d be willing to bet that Umbra is best suited for it.” He did not sound happy about the observation. “Either way, I think we’re in for a hell of a time.” Brass mumbled.

“Ever the optimist,” you smirked. Still, you couldn’t help but agree with him. Whatever you were being called to the _Finalizer_ for, you knew it wasn’t going to be simple. Umbra Squadron was highly regarded and highly praised, as far as you knew. Despite your unorthodox command method, you doubted that this was going to be a disciplinary meeting. That likely meant a new mission – one of high importance and likely secrecy. The kinds of things that tended to complicate matters for everyone involved.

And it had started out as such a simple morning.

\-----

No matter how many times he did it, no matter how prepared he felt, General Hux found that talking to Supreme Leader Snoke never got any easier. There was just something about the man - if he could be called that - that seeped into Hux’s gut, a silent warning that he was in danger. 

He would be a fool to think otherwise.

So, as he reported to the massive hologram of the Supreme Leader, Hux was sure to keep himself in check. Even as Snoke gave the order that Hux would be receiving a new second in command.

The scarred, alien man watched his reaction with half interest, doing a masterful job of keeping his warped face neutral. He would find no sign of reaction on Hux’s face - the general knew better than to show any sign of his feelings. He knew enough of Snoke’s mystic ways to know that thoughts and feelings were as words on paper to him. There was no sense in taking another risk when his thoughts were already at risk of exposing him. After all, it was difficult to fathom the amount of power such a withered body could command, but Hux had come to know differently. He knew that Snoke could kill him with a mere thought, and that it could be a long, painful death. It made things simple for the General; there was no room for failure, no opportunity to disappoint. No reason to give voice to his thoughts, especially if they contradicted Snoke’s orders. 

So, Hux hid his displeasure at the idea as best he could. “The First Order must expand. The weapon you have made will deliver the galaxy, now we must have the force necessary to hold it,” Snoke had said, finding a way to seem all-knowing as he always did. “You cannot command them all on your own.” 

Hux had not agreed with him. He had faith enough in his abilities as a leader without anyone getting in the middle. Still, he dared not dwell on that fact. Not while Snoke was giving him orders. 

He saved that for when he stood in the hangar later, watching a shuttle swing into a landing. 

The company of Stormtroopers behind him stood perfectly still as the ship extended its boarding ramp, white smoke hissing out from either side of it. Hux squinted as he the first pair of boots came into view, before the rest of his own Lieutenant came into view. Mitaka looked . . . unsure. He made eye contact with the General, if only for the briefest of moments. Still, it was enough for Hux to know that the Lieutenant was intimidated by his passengers. 

With good reason, he supposed. As soon as Snoke informed him of Umbra Squad’s arrival, Hux had gone to work researching their history. Active for the past three years and dozens of successful operations on record, Umbra was a force to be reckoned with in records alone. When they stepped down the ramp, Hux knew that their reputation was more than warranted. 

Each soldier moved with a seasoned confidence, the scratches and burn marks in their armor testaments to mettle tested and blood spilled. Hux studied each one as they stepped down the ramp for a moment before moving on to the next. 

Umbra Squadron filed into an orderly line just outside the shuttle . . . a Stormtrooper with an orange pauldron over the right shoulder stepping out of the ship last. At last, the famed Captain of Umbra Squadron. Hux had read all about you. Trained at a remnant Imperial Academy on Andara, a famed commander of their militia during their civil war, and now one of the most respected officers in the First Order. Respected . . . and puzzling. 

You completed the formation, stopping just in front of your soldiers and opposite Hux. You stood tall and proud, a battle-hardened silhouette that reminded him of Phasma, in a way. Any other resemblance was destroyed when, without waiting for permission, you reached up to your helmet and lifted it from your head. 

After the initial shock at the action wore off, Hux was struck by how _young_ you were. No older than him, certainly, and quite beautiful for a soldier. But your eyes . . . he wasn’t sure if the defiance there was intentional or not. Beyond that, there was a wisdom there that could only be earned through blood. And those eyes were fixed on him. 

Snoke chose you personally. _Why . . ._

“General Hux,” you saluted, “Umbra Squad reporting.” 

Hux nodded, a silent command for you to be _at ease._ He watched you carefully, seeing now why reports regarding you had been so perplexing. “Captain,” he didn’t bother to honey his words, “congratulations are in order for your work on Hutta, I hear.” He looked over your squad once more before settling his eyes back on you again. “Though I suppose that ‘Captain’ is outdated, now.” 

Suddenly he was glad that your helmet had been discarded; there was no effort to hide your reaction. Your eyes narrowed, brows cinching together in confusion. “Sir?”

“The Supreme Leader has taken notice of you, it seems. He has ordered that you be promoted to Major for your service.” Again, your reaction was instantaneous. Shock, elation and pride crossed your face, blending together seamlessly. You had not been expecting this, which took Hux by surprise yet again. Most officers of the First Order would have killed for the opportunity being granted to you. A few of them _had_. But Hux could tell right then and there that you were not an officer like the rest of them. You were a _soldier_. A soldier who wore scuff marks like badges of honor, who didn't hide what she was feeling. Not the sort of person who would choose to serve on a ship, nor the type of person Hux would choose for his second. 

You would not like what came next any more than he would. 

Not that it meant anything to the General. "He has also ordered that you be reassigned to the _Finalizer._ " And just like that, your face fell. 

\-----

You were used to following orders. It was a necessary part of being a soldier, one that you had thought you’d grown used to. But then you hadn’t received life-altering orders in some time. You’d grown used to your posting, to being sent to all corners of the galaxy and fighting alongside your men. Your _family_ , however strange a family it was.

The thought of leaving them now, of trading in your armor for a uniform and sitting on the sidelines while others fought . . . it was terrifying to you. 

“What about Umbra, General?” Hux’s face - which had been an impassive mask, up until now - contorted into a frown. You didn’t even realize that you had made a misstep until Hux’s green eyes flashed. Still, whether you had the right to or not, you _needed_ to know what was going to happen to your men. To Brass, Gauze and Longshot . . . to all the soldiers who you had bled alongside with. “Who will command them?” 

Hux stared at you for a moment - or _glared_ , as the case may be. It was enough to let you know that this man did not like being questioned. A commander who entertained no doubts, no opinions but his own. And you, who had never shied away from voicing your opinions, were about to be his second. “They will be transferred to the charge of another commanding officer, though it hardly concerns you.” His tone was measured and superior, like he had spent his life learning to command others with his voice alone. In all likelihood, he had. To carry such a rank as young as he was, he had to have spent his life working towards it. 

You knew that better than most. 

“Your former squad will be lodged here until their new Captain arrives.” The General looked to your men, inspecting them as he swept his gaze down the line of them. Then, he looked back to you, his eyes pinning you down. Or _trying_ to. “Lieutenant Mitaka will show you to your quarters. I will expect you to report for a debrief at o three hundred.”

“Yes, sir,” you nodded, your words dry. 

Hux nodded once, seemingly satisfied if the slight smirk he gave was any indication. “Good. Until then, Major.” Then, with his greatcoat billowing behind him, the General turned and was gone. 

Mitaka wasted no time, stepping up beside you. “Major,” he nodded, the word sounding so foreign to you, “if you will follow me?” 

Slowly, you nodded. The young Lieutenant began following his General, but you hesitated, the gravity of everything truly catching up to you. You were being stationed on a warship, alongside one of the most famous Generals of the First Order. And the Supreme Leader had chosen you _personally_. _Why?_ Why would he want you here, instead of in the field where you had proven yourself? Why would he place you under Hux’s command? 

You intended to find out, but for now you had more pressing concerns. Concerns like what you would do now with this new life being forced on you. A battlefield never stayed the same; it forced you to adapt if you wanted to survive. This would just be a different kind of battlefield. A new life that you didn’t choose. 

But you would be damned if you were going to give up your old life completely. 

You turned to your men, to the soldiers you had named. Their helmets, still dusted and scuffed from the fight, turned towards you and you wondered what expressions were hidden beneath them. Something told you that they were thinking the same thing you were, that this would not be the last time you would see them. After all, regulations had never been your squad’s primary concern. So, with the bravado that you all shared when with each other, you gave your men a salute. 

Almost immediately, the gesture was returned by your men and your heart squeezed. 

Then, you were following the Lieutenant, your boots pounding against the floor. All the while your thoughts were jumbled, wondering how so much could change in so short a time. 

You just hoped that the rest of the day wasn’t quite as eventful.


	2. Major

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You get used to life aboard the Finalizer - thankfully, finding a way to keep in touch with Umbra in the process. Hux takes an interest in your command style.

You had forgotten how long a month could drag on. 

When you had been promoted, you hadn’t thought about how much paperwork there would be. You had filed reports during your time as a Captain, but now you were the one actually _reading_ those reports. Each day was structured: debrief, emergency drills, planning campaigns, issuing orders . . . it exhausted you in a way you wouldn’t have expected. You found yourself going stir crazy, staring at the walls that surrounded your office when you lost focus. 

The lack of sleep wasn’t making anything easier. You were used to roughing it on the ground or on the regulation bunks that most soldiers got. To have an actual bed . . . you couldn't remember the last time you’d slept on one. 

When you were the Captain of Umbra Squad, you hadn’t stayed in one place for long. There was the occasional long operation but even then, there would always be something to do, some insurgents to carefully outmaneuver or a fortification to break. It had been hell at the time, but now confined within the grey walls of the _Finalizer_ you found that you missed the action. 

The company had been significantly better, too. 

Of the hundreds of soldiers you had spoken to in the past month, you could really only saw you _knew_ a handful. Less than a dozen, consisting mostly of those who were stationed outside of your office. FN-2615 and FN-2864 were those most often near to you. Hux had assigned them to be your personal guards, shadowing you around the _Finalizer_. They were, frankly, terrible company. You remembered those first weeks as the Captain of Umbra Squadron, when you would crack a joke at your men only to be met with blank helmets staring back at you. Fortunately, _they_ had been quick studies. Your new soldiers were another story. 

It didn’t take you long to figure out that it was fear that kept them quiet. Officially, they could not initiate any sort of contact with you, given that you were their superior officer. Even when you _did_ start a conversation they would keep if as brief as possible. 

You supposed that short conversations were better than no conversations, though.

When there was time, you had taken to walking the ship. It started out as a way to get your bearings aboard the _Finalizer,_ but it quickly turned into something else when you tried speaking to the janitorial staff and were met with blank, terrified stares. 

So - doing your best not to disturb their work - you made it your objective to talk to as many men as possible. 

The crew of the _Finalizer_ was determined, dedicated and unwearying - just like their General.

Hux demanded the best from every soldier under his command; he had made that abundantly clear from the first day you arrived. He was the perfect First Order General, ruthlessly efficient in every sense of the word. Everything and everyone had a job and he saw to it that their job was carried out. You had soon come to realize that the _Finalizer_ was a well-oiled machine in the General’s eyes. Nothing was out of place.

Nothing except you, of course. 

The first time you put on the teal officer’s uniform, you couldn’t help but think your own reflection a stranger. You were so used to being in armor, or at the very least being covered in soot and dust. Now, looking so groomed and put together . . . it was an uncomfortable feeling. 

It made you all the more thankful when you received the first encrypted transmission, no more than a simple ‘Hey, Boss.’ 

You knew it was Brass, even if it _shouldn’t_ have been. Technically speaking, any communication with your old squad should have ended the day you were promoted. It was a rule within the First Order, meant to dissuade connection between officers and their soldiers - one less emotional stake standing between the Order and success. You were usually one to follow regulations, when necessary. When they weren’t, though . . . 

You had replied with your own encryption within the day. It started a long, if somewhat slow-paced correspondence with your old brothers in arms. The messages were routed through several comm systems before they reached you, delayed so it would be difficult to trace. You were told that you had Shiv to thank for it, which somehow didn’t surprise you. It was a slow process, but one that allowed you to keep in touch. 

A very good thing, considering that present company didn’t have much to say. 

Brass had updated you on Umbra’s new posting, their new base of operations being the Star Destroyer _Dauntless_. Their new Captain was a piece of work, from what little you had been told, but just as clueless when it came to Umbra’s antics. You were just glad that they hadn’t seen much more action than you had in the last month, given their command change. They would never let that go, if their pestering about your promotion was any indication. 

Not to mention their curiosity about your new commanding officer. 

_‘So, how is he? Does he live up to the legend?’_ One transmission had asked, and you found yourself only surprised that it hadn’t been brought up sooner. 

Still, it was a difficult question to answer. If there was indeed a “legend”, then Hux more than met it. Beyond that, you couldn’t really speak to who the General was a person. You had spoken with Hux more than anyone else over the last month - though largely in group settings - and yet you knew him even less than your Stormtrooper shadows. Any conversation you’d had was centered around tactics, on whether an operation should be carried out or giving an update on a developing situation. 

Today was no different, with you standing at the General’s side, listening as your fellow officers gave their reports. Much to your dismay, listening was most of what you had done during these meetings so far. 

“Admiral Gliss reports that fighting has stopped on Nimban,” Captain Fel - his face etched and old - spoke, his gloved hands kept behind his back. Other men in uniforms sat on either side of him, a collective of officers seated around a table that made up the General’s meeting room. It was a familiar scene to you by now, as most of you met here quite frequently to discuss the state of things. You knew most of them by name, now, though you had seldom spoken to them outside of this room. They were respectful enough of you, despite most of them being your elders. That said, respect was where any camaraderie ended between you and them; there was little time for anything else. They were just as busy as you were, whether aboard the _Finalizer_ or not. Some were physically present, others were holograms, calling in from distant worlds. 

You tried not to let your mind wander to where they were. 

“Good,” Hux nodded once, his small smirk the only indication that he was any shade of pleased. “We’ll have men stationed there immediately to maintain control of the planet. Are there any systems nearby that could pose a problem?” 

“The nearest habitable world is independent; on the edge of Hutt space. They should offer no resistance.” 

You had to agree with the assessment. The New Republic was not known for aiding systems outside of its jurisdiction.

Hux seemed satisfied as well, that smirk widening ever so slightly. The First Order’s efforts were going well, all things considered. With the Resistance increasing its efforts, so too was the Order able to strike out more actively against them - something Hux was very pleased with. The abundance of good news had him in a good mood, it seemed. Not that he made it easy to tell. “Should any resistance arise, quell it. _Swiftly_.” He swept his gaze about the room, checking the faces of his officers to see if any had anything else to say. When none made any moves, he gave another, single nod. “Then we are finished for today. Return to your duties.” 

You - along with the other officers - nodded, taking your first steps away from Hux’s side and running through the checklist of your remaining tasks for the day. You made it only two steps away from the General. 

“Major,” he spoke, bringing you to a halt. “A word.” 

It wasn’t an invitation but an order. So, you stayed put, your eyes shifting between Hux and the officers leaving the room. The young General said nothing until the last hologram flickered out, something that only served to worry you more. This was far from the first time that Hux wanted to speak with you following a meeting . . . but it _was_ the first time since you started exchanging messages with your old squad mates. 

It was a decided risk, and you knew that going in. You had been willing to pay the price if you were caught, to take responsibility for your actions. All the same, that didn’t mean that you _wanted_ to be caught. But the fact that Hux was waiting to speak until everyone else left the room didn’t make you optimistic. 

When he finally turned his attention to you, you found yourself amazed by how much of a chill his eyes cast. 

That cold gaze swept over your face; any thoughts he was having were kept expertly veiled. It might have been frustrating, if worry wasn’t currently dominating your mind. “I hear you have made a habit of wandering the ship,” he finally said, and you found yourself surprised. 

“Yes, sir,” you nodded, your brow furrowed. “I like to be familiar with my surroundings.” 

Hux didn’t seem convinced. “And what about the soldiers who work in those surroundings? Mitaka has told me that you are quite fond of talking to the men as they work.” The air of superiority had returned to his voice, the tone telling you that he did not approve.

Ah, so communication with Umbra wasn’t the pressing issue. 

“I was curious as to why,” Hux tilted his chin up, as if he was waiting for a reply that could possibly justify your actions. 

And just like that, you were a bit annoyed. “I find that it boosts the troops morale if their commander shows interest in them and their work. Knowing the soldiers helps when leading them.” As you spoke you saw something in Hux’s face shift ever so slightly. It was only for a moment, but it was there, nevertheless. Still, he didn’t seem _angry_ , just perplexed. 

“I can’t imagine there would be much to know beyond their service records,” he scoffed.

“Each soldier is different. You don’t have an army of droids; you have an army of people.” Hux stilled at your comment, eyes narrowing. All the same, he let you continue. “People aren’t programmed. They need something to fight for. The more they believe, the harder they fight, and it’s easier to believe in something you can see.” 

“Inspiring loyalty, then?” 

“In a sense.”

“Is that the reason you named your former squad members?” The question made you freeze. You had been under the impression that no one outside of Umbra knew about their names; you had tried to call them by number in reports and in front of superiors to avoid any scrutiny. You knew it wasn’t impossible that others knew, but it was surprising all the same. Especially that _Hux_ would know, of all people. 

Still, even if he _shouldn’t_ have known, he was right. 

“Partly,” you nodded, noting how dry your throat suddenly felt, “I also gave them the names because they earned them by being the best soldiers in the First Order. The _best_ deserve recognition.” The General’s demeanor changed, then. He probably didn’t _like_ your answer, but he seemed to accept it. Maybe he even empathized with it. 

So, you decided to leave out the part about Stormtrooper numbers being tedious to yell with blaster fire around you. After all, it was a small reason and likely one that would reduce your standing in the General’s eyes.

“A fair notion.” He seemed to ponder something as he looked at you. “Captain Phasma prides herself on her men being the very best as well. See to it that her beliefs aren’t ill founded.” It was a veiled and vague command, but then you were not without your subtleties. It was permission to continue doing what you had been; to speak to the soldiers as they made their rounds. To treat them as _individuals_. 

“Yes, sir,” the corner of your mouth twitched up. 

“Just take care that you don’t interfere too much with their duties.” Hux said, turning away from you. You found yourself disappointed by this return to callousness, but you had long ago learned to accept what victories you could. 

And learning that there was, perhaps, a person beneath that chiseled mask was indeed a victory. 

So, as you sat down that night, you found yourself writing a message to Brass, all too excited to update him. About half-way through the message you realized how bored you must have been if _this_ constituted excitement.


	3. Direct Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You get some action in the form of a rebelled Stormtrooper and an escaped Resistance pilot. In butting heads with you, Hux learns an unexpected story from your past . . . and realizes that there's more to you than meets the eye.

Everyone was always told to be careful what they wished for. It seemed an obvious enough thing - to know that wanting something didn’t always make that something _good_. That hadn’t stopped you from wishing for a skirmish or _some_ form of excitement during those first few weeks aboard the _Finalizer_. You had wanted so desperately to be back on the front lines that you found yourself imagining sneaking aboard a troop transport to escape the structured days. 

But, eventually, you had started to grow used to life aboard the ship. Since your discussion with him, Hux had been seeking your tactical input with much greater frequency. He seemed to respect your advice, if he didn’t agree with it most days. It wasn’t _exciting_ , per se, but it let you feel valuable. That alone was enough to make your new posting bearable. 

So, it was ironic that - when you were finally getting used to the quiet - the excitement you had so wished for burst into your life. 

It began with the arrival of Kylo Ren. 

You had heard of the famed Commander of the Knights of Ren. You were certain that everyone in the First Order had. The tales didn’t quite prepare you for the overwhelming feeling of _fury_ that rolled off the man. Hux had warned you about that, and about the man’s pension for destruction. 

Still, when you finally _did_ meet him, you were taken aback by the amount of power he held. It made you all the more thankful that the interactions you had with him were brief. 

Something told you that the General shared your relief. 

“He’s searching for Luke Skywalker.” It was rare for Hux to show such clear disdain, but whenever the topic of Kylo Ren was brought up he didn’t shy away from it. You had taken the opportunity to seek out more information with the General after a debrief. When you asked him about Ren’s presence aboard the _Finalizer_ , he had scoffed. “The Supreme Leader thought it best to entrust the task to someone who knows of Skywalker’s mystic ways.” 

You could remember hearing the stories about Skywalker and his exploits against the old Empire. To be chasing such fantasies now was certainly unexpected. “It may bring an advantage,” you shrugged, “having someone with that _sense_.” You weren’t sure how to describe Ren’s set of skills. 

“One would hope,” Hux admitted, though there was an edge behind his voice. Suddenly, his eyes turned towards you with a deadly seriousness. “Avoid him if you can.” 

You weren’t sure _why_ he gave you the advice. You could assume that it was because Hux just didn’t like Ren and he wanted him to mingle with his officers as little as possible. Or perhaps it was because of the instability he’d warned you about. You weren’t sure. All you knew was that you weren’t going to shy away from the man, even if he was threatening. 

Then came the mission to Jakku, and you found that avoiding him was almost impossible. 

You were aboard the bridge when the _Finalizer_ made the jump to lightspeed, overseeing the officers working there. Hux was elsewhere. You hadn’t asked, so you couldn’t say _where_ the General was. And Kylo Ren stood in the back - or _lurked_ as the case may have been. To say it was unsettling was an understatement. His helmet hid any expression, any indication of what he was looking at - or who. You found yourself suddenly thankful for the impassive mask that Hux usually wore; at least there was a measure of humanity with him.

It made you thankful that you were not to accompany him to the surface of the planet. Odd, considering how desperately you had wanted to leave the _Finalizer_ just a week ago. 

You were even more thankful when you heard what happened down on the surface; the slaughter of a village under Ren’s orders. Your knowledge of it came second-hand and casually - so brief that it might have been a comment about the weather. Phasma had been the one to tell you, though she had really been asking about one of her men. A soldier who didn’t pull the trigger when the order was given. 

You had spoken to him, on Phasma’s request. FN-2187. No other name - not that you had expected one. He was terrified, not the sort you would have assigned to a combat squad in the first place. You said as much in the report you filed, recommending that he be reevaluated and reassigned. He would be sent to reconditioning, you knew, but you didn’t think that the battlefield would be any place for him. You didn’t think that he would be the soldier to steal a TIE fighter and escape with a Resistance pilot. But then, you had been wrong before.

\-----

It had been a long day, and the days to come looked to be even longer. 

Hux was vaguely aware of a stiffness in his shoulders as he sat at his desk, though it was such a common feeling to him by now that he paid it little mind. He sat leaning forward, his chin resting on interlaced fingers The General stared at the reports in front of him, though he had stopped _reading_ them half an hour ago. They all had the same thing to say; the droid and the traitor who took it were long gone, and few had any idea where to. The Resistance was one step closer to finding Luke Skywalker.

Hux didn’t believe that Skywalker could cast the First Order down single handedly; if such a feat were possible, another would have done it already. Still, Hux knew well the power of symbols. What’s more, he knew that Snoke would do nearly anything to stop Skywalker from reforming his old order. He would sanction any move that would weaken the Resistance, anything to prevent them from rising to further power. 

If ever there was a time to unleash Starkiller, this was it. 

“Sir?” your voice pulled him out of his thoughts, drawing his attention away from the screen in front of him.

You stood in the doorway, finding a way to look alert despite the exhaustion in your eyes. That was something of a constant with you, he noticed. Since you came to the _Finalizer_ , you had started looking more and more tired. It confused him, but then so many things about you confused him. You were, at least, starting to look less out of place. Even if you felt otherwise. 

"Major, come in." He pointed to the chair on the other side of the desk with his chin, straightening up in his own seat. 

You complied, though Hux didn't miss the look of confusion in your eyes. 

Not wanting to waste any time, Hux began as soon as you sat down. "Has there been any word of the droid?"

A look - regret, maybe - overtook your face. "No, sir. There's been nothing yet."

He had thought as much. It only confirmed the conclusion he had already come to. “You yourself said that people aren’t programmed. That they fight harder for something that they believe in. If that droid gets into the hands of the Resistance and they are able to find Luke Skywalker, they will have a myth at the head of their army.” 

You nodded, understanding. “Then we’ll have to strike out against them.” 

“Exactly.” Hux’s gaze hardened. “It won’t be long before the Supreme Leader calls for the use of the weapon.” 

Many things about you had changed during your service aboard the _Finalizer_ , but the freedom with which you displayed your reactions to anything, and everything had stayed very much the same. And as soon as the words left his mouth, Hux watched as your face contorted into one of grim distaste. “Starkiller Base, you mean?” You asked, though you already knew the answer. Hux had made sure that you were briefed on each and every operation and project he oversaw. You knew of Starkiller Base well and had - from what Hux could tell - a negative disposition towards it from the very beginning. 

You blinked, your brow furrowing. “What system are you planning to hit?”

“Hosnian Prime.” 

Expressive as ever, a visceral reaction took hold of you. Your jaw clenched and your eyes narrowed. “The New Republic. You mean to wipe it out,” it wasn’t a question - you weren’t confused about the endgame. Still, Hux found it surprising that you were so concerned. But then, when you took the time to speak to the janitorial staff, he supposed that he shouldn’t have. 

“You don’t approve?” Hux asked, now interested to see the reasoning behind your opinion . . . and to test the defiance he thought he saw sparking in your eyes. It had been there, lurking beneath the surface since you first stepped foot on the _Finalizer_. He had been waiting to see how long before it boiled over.

Now was the time, it seemed. “I don’t.” 

Hux might have admired your spirit, if it wasn’t directed against him. “You would advise against destroying the Republic? Our enemies?” 

Your gaze sharpened. “I have no love for the Republic.” Hux knew it to be true. No one with your record would have any sympathies for the Republic or their Senate. And you had more reason than most to hate them. “My world was burning, and the Republic turned their backs on us. We asked them for aid, and they left us to rot, just as they have for hundreds of worlds.” You shook your head, nothing but anger in your stare. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to see them fall.” 

“The fastest way to accomplish that goal would be to annihilate them.”

“And the people living there?” 

Ah, so that was the cause of your hesitation. Compassion, even for your enemies. It wasn’t the first time he had seen it in the ranks of the First Order, but for someone with your reputation . . . “What does it matter? They chose to support the Republic; they are as much a part of it as those fools in the Senate.” 

“Most people don’t get to choose what flag they live under.”

“And yet,” Hux leaned back, inexplicably enjoying the feeling of checkmate, “you fought a war proving otherwise.” 

You stilled, realizing the contradiction. Still, it seemed, that you weren’t done yet. “I did. And it was bloody, and long.” Something sparked behind your eyes, and a new expression overtook your face. “We chose to rise up, to fight for what we believed in. I killed people I went to school with. I destroyed my neighbor’s homes because they chose a different side than I did.”

Hux knew the story well. The newly crowned King of Andara was a tyrant, if the accounts were to be believed. His brother had revolted against him, with you as one of his most trusted Generals. It was the stuff of stories, with a pair of brothers fighting over who would rule. And, after the New Republic refused to help the fight, the Insurgents had turned to the First Order. It was his understanding that you had joined the Order not long after, going from a decorated General in the militia to a Sergeant in Special Forces. And now, here you were, standing up to your superior officer just as you had stood up to a King, not long ago. 

And he was _letting_ you, he realized. He was allowing this insubordination and he could not say why. 

“When the Republic refused to help, things got even worse. All the _honor_ we fought with in the beginning was gone. It wasn’t about who sat on the throne anymore; it was about surviving. It was about winning no matter the cost. So, when the last of the Loyalists were holed out in the capital, using civilians as cover, we didn’t hesitate to order the bombardment.”

That caught Hux’s attention. He had read the reports of the civil war on Andara - he had been part of the decision to send them forces to help the Insurgents win. Your account did not match what he had read. 

“I was under the impression that the Loyalists themselves destroyed the city,” Hux raised an eyebrow, his interest genuine even if the subversion of his authority annoyed him. 

You shook your head. “When the First Order stepped in, the Loyalists pulled their forces back. They knew they weren’t going to win, not on their own. We got word that they were trying to contact mercenary groups, that they were going to bring in reinforcements.” You gaze darkened, and you took a breath. “I ordered the attack, when the time came. It was done with as much discretion as possible; make it look like it was one final attempt to keep the throne from us. There were none left to contradict our story, when it was over. 

“I walked through the rubble, after. I saw the bodies. Soldiers, politicians . . . but mostly men, women and children who had never held a blaster in their lives.” Your jaw tightened as you stated him down. The memory, though old, clearly bothered you still. More than that, it _pained_ you. It was more regretful than he had ever thought to see you. 

“And had you not given the order, Andara would have a different King now.” He said and saw from your reaction that you knew it to be true. 

“It’s likely. But I’ve spent my life since wondering if there wasn’t another way.”

“Well, we don’t have the luxury of a lifetime. I will not leave anything to chance.” He stood, straightening his uniform. You followed suit, though you continued to stare him down. Whatever disagreements the two of you had, even Hux could appreciate the power you commanded with that gaze. It was enough to make even him pause. Enough to make his chest tighten, inexplicably. “We make for Starkiller Base tomorrow. I need you to make the necessary arrangements.” He strode past you, heading for the door. He didn’t make it there before you spoke again, stopping him. 

“You had your mind made up about this before I arrived,” you called out to him, making him turn and face you, his face stone. “Why did you call me here?” 

Keeping his head high, Hux made his way back over to you, stopping a few paces away from where you stood. You held your ground, staring up at him in a spiteful confusion. He would be disappointed with anything less. “I do not dispute your ability, and though I do not agree with your methods at times, I do not deny that you are an effective leader. But High Command is about more than just war. It is politics.” Your eyes flashed, but you seemed to understand all the same. “You were a hero to your people during the war, but there are no heroes here.”

“I’m not a hero,” you shook your head, your voice low, “I’m just a soldier.” 

Hux was not convinced in the slightest. “A soldier who seeks to inspire; who names those under your command.” He shook his head. “It may have served you well on Andara, but not here. Idealism does not win wars.” 

You didn’t give him the chance to continue. “I _know_ what it takes to win wars. But it’s hard to rule over ashes.” Your words were sharp, edged with defiance. He knew by now that you did not shrink away from anything, never flinched, never feared. He thought you foolish for it . . . but he also envied it. 

Still, he could not afford an insubordinate second in command. “Careful with that. I value your council, but careful.” 

Your nostrils flared, but your expression lost some of its ire. “Apologies, General.” It still didn’t sound quite authentic, but it was at least respectful. Your eyes, though, promised that this would not be the last time you would make your opinion known, even when it wasn’t asked for. 

He would expect nothing less. 

“You are dismissed,” he waited for you to move, this time. Thankfully, you nodded and stepped away, adjusting the collar of your uniform as you went. He listened to your footsteps as you went, keeping his eyes focused forward as he waited for the sound to disappear. It was only then that Hux realized that he had been holding his breath. He breathed deep before huffing it out in a frustrated sigh. He hadn’t felt threatened the way he did with Ren or Snoke, but he had felt _perturbed_ all the same. It was not a feeling that he appreciated. 

Still, he found his thoughts lingering on your words. On the realization that you were capable of more than he thought.

Had Snoke known? Perhaps that was the reason he had chosen you; a soldier who was willing to do whatever it took to achieve victory . . . and yet, the revolutionary who ordered the bombardment of Andara’s capital was not the same person as the Major serving as his second. Guilt and sentiment had taken hold of you now, misplaced compassion becoming your weakness. 

All the same, you were undoubtedly not what he thought you were going to be. And he found himself thinking about it more and more as the days went on. 

_I know what it takes to win wars_.

He thought of this whenever you brought a report to him, any more words the two of you exchanged being brief. He thought of it as he reported to the Supreme Leader, advising the use of the weapon he had spent the last few years of his life on. 

_It’s hard to rule over ashes._

He thought of this as Starkiller base fired, lighting the sky red. He thought of those words as Hosnian Prime was destroyed, his army lined up before him, watching a world die. 

He thought of your words when it was over, when he looked back to where you were standing. As the crowd behind him dissipated, you remained, your eyes cast towards the sky where the path of destruction was still burned into the heavens. Then, your gaze turned to him, your expression blank. You bowed your head to him once before turning away, having no further words for him.


	4. Coup de Main

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You learn that the Resistance believes in taking an eye for an eye. You also learn that there is more to Hux than you might have thought.

You remembered very vividly the last day of the Andaran civil war. The day when you ordered the bombing of the capital, and when you'd walked through the aftermath. 

The ashen city - and the bodies lying there - weighed on you more heavily than anything else in your life. The guilt kept you sleepless, the faces of those you killed as vivid in your mind as your mother and father. And no matter what your comrades said, no matter how anyone justified the choice, you had given the order. You had taken those lives, just as much as those who planted the explosives. You would carry that until the day you died. 

So, when you watched Hux destroy Hosnian Prime, you couldn’t help but wonder whether the deaths of those people weighed on him. If it mattered to the General, he did an expert job of hiding it; as he did an expert job of hiding _any_ of his feelings. 

It was foolish to expect anything else of him, you supposed. 

Meanwhile, Hosnian Prime became an almost inescapable thought for you. Just as before, you tried to convince yourself that it was necessary, that there was no other way. It was, in part, true. If the Supreme Leader ordered it, there was really no other choice to be made. And, just as before, your efforts were largely unsuccessful. Imagining so many lives destroyed was difficult to fathom. The fact that you were now _living_ on the very weapon used to destroy an entire system only made it worse. And the General . . . seeing him was no help, either. 

In the hours after the attack, any interaction you had with the General was brief - something you were grateful for. If you couldn’t take your mind off of what he had done, then you weren’t sure that you would be able to keep those thoughts quiet, if he should ask. You were well aware that Hux had let you off easy when you’d spoken before, and you didn’t feel like tempting a court martial. So, you took the General’s example and kept your raging thoughts to yourself. 

You couldn’t be blamed for expecting those thoughts to stay that way . . . but you hadn’t taken into account the company you were now keeping. 

You were on your way to a meeting with the other officers when a feeling of dread overtook you, a sudden coldness that felt . . . unnatural. “Major,” the voice, modulated and grating and bellicose, stopped you in your tracks. You turned, your Stormtrooper escort parting just in time for Kylo Ren to stalk up to you. 

“Commander Ren,” you bowed your head - if a bit hesitantly. “What can I do for you?” you asked in earnest. 

It was then that you felt something . . . else. Like something was whispering through your mind, sifting through your thoughts. Something, or someone. 

You only realized what was happening when Ren spoke, something akin to understanding in his tone. "You are troubled," not a question, but a statement. You didn't get the chance to get a word in edgewise before Ren nodded towards your escorts. "Leave us," he ordered, and without question the two Stormtroopers obeyed. 

You watched them go before turning your gaze back to the masked man in front of you, feeling yourself becoming smaller as he stared you down. Even so, you were not so easily intimidated. 

"You'll have to forgive me, Commander Ren, but I'm not sure what you mean."

"You are many things, Major, but a liar is not one of them." Ren's words put an end to any protestation. What was worse was that they were true. "It sets you apart from most. Certainly apart from the General." You didn't need him to tell you that he spoke of Hux. "Hardly the greatest difference between you and him."

You knew that you were on thin ice, even if you weren't sure why. So, you tried your best to be careful with your answer. "I may not agree with everything that General Hux does-”

“Like the destruction of Hosnian Prime?” Your eyes flashed, the feeling of danger only growing. “I understand you advised him against it.” 

“I was brought on to advise him,” you began with measured caution, “so I did.”

When Ren spoke again, his tone was knowing and sharp, willingly giving you knowledge that you perhaps shouldn’t possess. “You were brought on to ensure that the General’s ambition does not outweigh his usefulness.” The idea threw you even further off guard. The implications were debasing at best, but at worst . . . you knew that the men had no liking for each other, but all the same this was not the sort of thing you’d expected to hear about your commanding officer. 

Your next words, though hesitant, were true. “I don’t think there’s any reason to be concerned about Hux’s loyalty to the First Order.”

“Maybe not,” Ren agreed, but you knew there was more to follow, “but Hux is not here because of his ideals or his principles. He is here for himself.” Given everything you knew about the General, everything he had said to you, it was difficult to disagree. Still, the entire conversation made you uneasy. You were no stranger to speaking your mind, but it had always been on matters of strategy. This felt . . . different. “So,” Ren continued, “it was in the best interests of the First Order to find him a second in command who had a different agenda.” 

Your brow creased, unsure whether or not to believe the words. The debate was only overshadowed when you realized that, true or not, Ren would not tell you something like this without reason. Whether this was a test or something more, you knew that your response would be measured and evaluated. 

There was no escaping that here, it seemed.

“Whatever the reason is for my being here,” you began, wishing that you had a way to gage the man’s reaction, “I intend to serve the First Order to the best of my ability.” 

“Then you may wish to consider whether you can serve it better following orders . . . or giving them.” Treasonous words that made your eyes widen even further. Once again, Kylo Ren seemed to want to be the one with the last word. Before you could speak he stormed past you, leaving your head spinning. 

\-----

You had never thought to be standing on a world as it fell to pieces. 

Not literally, anyway. You had been in countless battles, and there were moments in each that had felt like the end, but the planets themselves had still been standing by the end of it all. The same could not be said for Starkiller Base, as the ground shook beneath your feet, threatening to split. 

You had been fortunate; the command deck of the Base - where you had been - had suffered little damage. You had flown into action, trying to get as many men onto the evacuation shuttles as possible. For all the emergency drills that had been run, nothing could have prepared you or anyone else for this. You supposed no one could ever be prepared for the end of the world. 

“Move! Now!” you roared, reaching out towards a Stormtrooper and yanking him past you. 

Others followed, most of them in varying states of injury. They ran past you and into the hangar beyond, where a transport waited. It was already nearly filled to the brim with soldiers, the pilots no doubt ready to take off at any moment. 

“Major!” a helmeted Stormtrooper called, running in from a joining hallway. “I’ve rounded up everyone I could!” 

“Get them to the ships! Go!” 

You no sooner gave the order that your comm unit buzzed, something you might have missed had the quakes not stopped momentarily. “ _Major,_ ” the voice overlaid with static, but you recognized it all the same. Even over the comm, you could tell that Hux was panicked. “ _Major come in!_ ” 

Ducking out of the way as the ceiling above you crumbled, you yelled back in response. “I read you, General!”

A flash of white caught your eye, and you turned back just in time to see a Stormtrooper stumble out of a doorway, one of his legs mangled. You were running towards him just as Hux spoke again, slinging his arm around your shoulder and hauling him up. He murmured something that you couldn’t hear over the sound of cracking earth and distant explosions. Meanwhile, even with the static, you could hear Hux better than almost anything else. “ _You missed the rendezvous, where are you?”_ He demanded as you began to guide the injured soldier through the rubble and towards the hangar door. 

You groaned, the plastic edges of the Stormtrooper’s armor digging into you. Still, you pressed on, memories of pulling your men to safety coming back to you. If none of those blaster shots had been able to take you down, you would be damned if you would die here. And you’d be damned if you couldn’t save as many lives as possible. “There are still men down here, General!”

“ _Don’t be a fool! Get onboard one of those shuttles! At once!_ ” 

You didn’t need someone else to tell you that your time was running out. The ground splitting behind you was more than enough of a reminder; one that only got worse as you felt yourself lose your footing. Your body tipped backwards, the Stormtrooper at your side only serving to weigh you down as you fell. 

In that moment, your heart stopped beating. 

Weightlessness overtook you, your eyes going wide as you reached out with your free hand, trying desperately to find something to grab onto. Your hand hit a jagged outcrop of the chasm. By the grace of the stars above, you managed to hold on, breaking your fall. It might have been cause for celebration, if not for the soldier whose arm was around your shoulders. 

You felt him slip, with nothing to hold on to, sending him plummeting down. You couldn’t say what allowed you to move with the speed that you did, but not a moment later you reached out with your other hand and caught hold of the Stormtrooper’s arm. You didn’t have the opportunity to feel relief, with a devastating pain turning exploding from your shoulder. A scream shot from your lungs, your vision blurring for a moment as the strain burned through you . . .

But you held on. 

You looked down, seeing the Stormtrooper dangling over the abyss, his own hand wound tightly around your wrist. He looked up at you, his expression unreadable behind his helmet - though you could probably guess what it might have been. 

Hux still spoke through the comms, but you could scarcely hear the words. All you could hear was the pounding of blood in your ears, the sound of metal scraping against metal and the thousand other promises of death echoing around you. A symphony of annihilation. 

You strained your arm for a moment before you realized that you couldn’t pull yourself up. You had trained for years to be stronger than most, conditioning your body to withstand the worst the battlefield would have to offer. But there were some things beyond the limits of human strength. With one arm holding you up and the other keeping the Stormtrooper from falling, you were effectively trapped. All the same, letting go was not an option. 

“Hold on,” you called down, trying to ignore the pain as you searched for a way out. 

The Stomtrooper pulled your attention when he shouted back at you. “Sir!” He sounded young. Young and terrified, but resolved all the same. “You can’t hold us both-”

“Just _hold on_!” You weren’t sure if you were ordering him or yourself. 

“Major!” another voice called, and you looked up to see two new Stormtroopers peering down at you. One reached down towards you, only to brush the tips of his fingers against your own. They couldn’t reach you. 

It was then that you felt the pressure on your wrist disappear - the deathgrip the soldier had on you was gone as he opened his hand. He was letting himself fall. “No!” you yelled, looking back down to the nameless man. You tightened your grip, the leather of your gloves offering you some purchase . . . but not enough. The plastic of the Stormtrooper vembrance made it impossible to keep your hold. So, in agonizing slowness, it slipped through your fingers. 

He gave no final words, no scream or shout. He simply fell, plummeting into the shadows as you reached out for him. 

There was no time for grief, not with the world coming apart at its seams. So, baring your teeth through the pain in your shoulder, you swung your now free hand up towards the men above you. They grabbed you, pulling you up in a group effort that forced another scream out of you. You were barely aware of your feet hitting the ground, only really realizing that you were moving when you passed into the hangar. 

You scrambled on to the shuttle, the Stormtroopers who saved you cramming in with the others already onboard. The pilots needed no prompting to take off, the boarding ramp closing just in time for you to see the hangar floor crack. 

It was only when you were in the air that you realized that your comm line to Hux was still open. “ _Major! Come in!_ ” his voice was grated, though coming in clearer the further away from the base you got. 

“I read you, General,” you hissed, the pain in your arm hitting you full force. You couldn’t look at it though - not when you saw fire out of the cockpit window. You made your way forward, gritting your teeth against the throbbing in your shoulder. Then the full of Starkiller Base came into view and, for a moment, you forgot all concept of pain; of anything other than shock. It was the same thing you’d felt when you’d watched the destruction of Hosnian Prime - an all-encompassing sort of stillness and awe. Now, though, you got to see the death of a planet up close. 

It was horrific.

The surface fractured, flame and magma spilling out from the fissures. The massive chamber that made up Starkiller’s primary weapon bloomed in yellow and orange, before the surface turned to a molten inferno. You didn’t see the last of it, with the shuttle turning away just in time. The _Finalizer_ slid into view, the light of the dying world behind you painting the ship gold. 

“We made it off,” you spoke into the comm, your mind finally realizing what was happening. 

Starkiller Base was gone, and with it, any chance of another planet becoming its victim.

Even with your hatred for the New Republic, you could never have agreed with Hosnian Prime. You were under no illusions that you could convince Hux to hold off. Not with Snoke condoning the attack. All the same, you thought it better that neither side have the power to eradicate an entire planet. The Resistance had repaid you now, one planet for another. Starkiller would never destroy anything else, but you couldn’t ignore how many lives had been lost. You thought of the Stormtrooper who had sacrificed himself so that you could live . . . of the thousands of soldiers weren’t so lucky as you. 

It filled your chest with lead, a remorse that you knew all too well. 

Hux’s voice did little to distract you from that feeling. _“Return to the_ Finalizer _. There . . .”_ he paused, and you realized just how tired he sounded, _“. . . there is much to do.”_

You knew how right he was. There would be no armistice, no treaty that could repair the damage done to either side. Not that you would have wanted one, you supposed. You had joined the First Order to bring the Republic down; to end a regime that let worlds burn because they were too afraid to step in and help. But now, as your shuttle drew ever closer to the _Finalizer_ , you couldn’t help but wonder whether striking the match itself was worse.

Questions you had once asked yourself, when you were a little younger and a great deal more naive. Things that you hadn’t thought to concern yourself with as a soldier, but found yourself wondering all the same. 

You could only hope that the ends would justify the means. 

\-----

It was rare that one was able to physically watch their life fall to pieces. Usually, it was a slow fall into ruin that couldn’t be tangibly seen. Not in quite so literal a way, in any case. That was the kind of dissolution that Hux was used to - the kind that had dominated his life for so long. 

In many ways, Starkiller base was meant to be his escape from that. His means to reshape the galaxy in whichever image he chose. Now, there were only ruins left; molten debris floating in the vacuum of space. 

A testament to failure. 

Hux didn’t dare to look at it for long - the ruin of his crowning achievement. He had retreated to his office aboard the _Finalizer_ as soon as he was able, coordinating his men from there. He could not afford to dwell on it, not now when everything rode on his response to the disaster. His rank, his career . . . his life. Whether the fault was truly with him or not, Hux knew that Snoke would blame him for the loss of Starkiller Base. _He_ had commanded the project, promised that the weapon would deliver the galaxy into the hands of the First Order. _He_ had ordered the destruction of Hosnian Prime, giving the Resistance reason to fire back. 

And now, the carefully constructed illusion of invincibility was shattered. The First Order was no longer something to be feared, it was something to be fought. 

And with it, the illusion that Hux had crafted for himself was beginning to collapse, too. If he allowed Starkiller Base to be lost . . . 

The General sank lower into his seat, a heavy knot filling his chest, pressing hard against his ribs. His hands were balled, his gloves off and resting on the desk beside him. His greatcoat was similarly disregarded, draped over his chair. His focus might have been on the wall, once, but now his mind was at war. He was fraying at the edges, trying to determine what to do next. 

Action would need to be taken, that much he knew. He would hunt the Resistance down to the ends of the universe, if he had to. He would burn their bases and destroy their ships, he would execute their leaders himself. 

He would do whatever it took to keep himself alive after this. 

He was so engrossed in his own thoughts, in his own survival, that he didn’t notice the door sliding open. Nor did he notice you stepping into his office, coming to a stop just out of his field of vision. “General,” you spoke and he snapped his attention towards you in an instant. 

He might have been angry with you coming in unannounced, but the shock of your appearance overshadowed that irritation. 

Your face was flecked with dust, lines of thin red on your cheeks carved by scratches. There was a datapad in your left hand, resting against your hip. Your right arm was in a sling, held at an angle against your chest. It was a strange sight for Hux. He didn’t know you could look anything less than formidable, anything other than strong. Now, from your injured arm to the hollow look in your eyes, Hux realized that you looked _shaken_. But then, he knew that he looked no better. 

For one time-rending moment, Hux thought you might comment on that. There was a look of _knowing_ in your eyes as you took him in, your lips parting as if to speak. 

Then, to Hux's relief, those lips closed and your focus changed.

“I have the casualty report from Starkiller.” 

Hux had no desire to hear the amount of forces that had been lost. Not now, not when your eyes were on him. It was taking everything he had to hold himself together as it was, without knowing the true damage done. Everything he had, and something told him that his facade was cracking.

All the same, he had to know what was left in order to decide what to do next. 

"What are our losses?" He asked, bracing himself for the answer. 

By the look you gave him, Hux knew that the number was crippling. "Estimates are in the hundred thousands. Mostly enlisted personnel, technicians and engineers working in the lower levels. Most of the fighters docked were destroyed, as well as larger ships.

"We also received word once we were clear," you continued, your voice low, "this wasn't an isolated incident. A group of Resistance fighters infiltrated the Star-Destroyer _Retribution._ It was critically damaged and the ship's Commander was killed."

Hux said nothing, his jaw clenched tight against the news. The First Order had been maimed, its sword arm hacked off at the shoulder. They had been lucky not to lose more. 

_You_ had been lucky. 

He had heard you screaming through the comms, no doubt in response to the injury you sported now. All for nameless soldiers, men who were trained to give their lives if need be.

_"There are still men down here, General!"_

You had spoken with such conviction, such determination. He wondered for a moment whether you would have risked the same for him. He wondered if the animosity you bore him was enough for you to abandon your idealism. Somehow, he doubted that his life carried much value with him.

It made it all the more confusing when he looked into your eyes and saw a spark of concern. 

_A trick of the light_ , he convinced himself. Not that it mattered, either way. Hux didn't need you to want to protect him. 

He needed you to want revenge for the soldiers who died on Starkiller.

"And the forces that survived the attack?" 

You hesitated before answering, your eyes fixed on him, like you were trying to decipher him. When you spoke, your tone was grim. "There have been some desertions. Not many, but with the chaos it's hard to tell who was killed in the blast and who simply didn't return." There was regret in those words, but your tone shifted quickly. "But most of the men are angry. They want to fight back. Give the order and they'll be ready."

"And you?" 

You took in a breath and Hux could almost see the memory of Starkiller replaying in your mind. "Being down there . . . it was like a nightmare. I've never seen anything like it." You shook your head, your lips pursed together and your brow creased in focus. "This needs to end, and I will do what I can to end it." 

"Good." Hux stood, his gloveless hands intertwining behind him. "The Resistance wishes to play at war? We will give them one." He could feel his face twisting into a glare at the thought. He didn't hide it from you. "Our differences aside, the Resistance must be destroyed. We will hunt them down . . ." he almost shook, the carefully controlled fear and anger boiling just beneath the surface, ". . . and we will make them pay." There was no other choice. No other alternative. 

Hux would have to destroy the Resistance now, or Snoke would destroy him.

Fortunately, he didn't need to convince you any further. That glimmer of concern was quickly replaced by a seasoned conviction. "I'll prepare the men," you nodded, and something passed between the two of you. 

Not quite respect, not quite camaraderie, but an understanding nonetheless. 

Your reasons were different, but both of you had more cause than ever to bring this war to a close. You could keep the men in line, be their comrade in arms and he could be as ruthless as he needed to be. 

For now, though, Hux needed to be something else. If only for a moment. 

So, he waited until you were gone from the room, until the door was again closed. Then, when he was left alone again with nothing but his thoughts, he sank back into his chair, that pressing feeling against his ribs returning with even more force than before. 

Invasive thoughts bombarded him, memories of the attack, of Ren, Snoke, even his father's face sneering at him from a time long since buried. He clawed at his hair, disheveling it. The weight of it all was crushing, but not nearly as much as what lay before him. 

_You are only as safe as you are useful._

He heaved in a heavy breath, shakily exhaling it. He could not fall apart now. Not when everything depended on his actions, his choices. In truth, he had let even _you_ see too much.

So, after a few breaths, Hux stood. He fixed his hair, putting his gloves back on and threw his greatcoat back over his shoulders. 

When he returned to the bridge, his features were stone. He gave orders, commanding just as he always did. 

Trying to ignore the debris of Starkiller Base. Trying to ignore the worry in his head and the lead in his belly. 

Trying to ignore your eyes on him. 

But still, there was something _knowing_ there, just as before. Something that spoke of concern, of seeing through the mask. 

He could not afford it, so he kept his focus elsewhere. Kept himself busy - an easy task, especially now. This was not some boy who had lost everything. This was a General who was going to burn the galaxy down.

No, he could not afford to look weak.

Not now . . .

. . . not ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Formatting is a bit different on this for now, but I'll change it soon. I'm away from a computer so I'm posting on my phone.  
> Also sorry for the delay, these last few weeks got away from me somehow! Thank you to all my lovely readers for your patience!


	5. A War of Attrition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You are given a break from life aboard the Finalizer when you are sent to Kashyyyk on a mission. When you return, you realize that things will only get worse from here.

In the week following the destruction of Starkiller Base, you realized just how much you missed being boots on the ground. 

The Resistance had been easily tracked to the Ileenium System, with the planet D'Qar being their base of operations. More than that, other pockets of resistance had been rooted out across the galaxy. General Hux had been very clear in his instructions: the Resistance was to be destroyed, root and stem. Under normal circumstances, you would have been relegated to observing ground forces from afar. Now, with so many soldiers dead, it became necessary for some officers to physically lead troops to the surface. Thankfully, the First Order medics had been able to heal your shoulder of anything but a lingering soreness, deeming you fit for duty once again.

So, donning your old armor, you had set out towards the surface of Kashyyyk with a platoon of soldiers at your back. 

It was a chance to truly show your worth, to get your hands dirty and leave the games of intrigue and treachery behind. For that reason alone you had been glad when Hux gave you the order. 

Try as you might, you could not ignore Kylo Ren's words about the General. Nor could you forget how unhinged Hux had looked the day Starkiller was destroyed. He had tried to hide it, but it was there, you recognized the fear in his eyes well enough. 

The two conflicting interactions were nearly constantly buzzing about your head. Being in the field again was a much appreciated changed pace, even if the men you were commanding weren't quite as snarky as your old friends in Umbra. 

In fact, these men were deadly serious.

Most of them had escaped Starkiller just as you had. After watching so many of their brothers and sisters die, they were eager to repay the Resistance. That eagerness began to dissipate when you actually _found_ the base you were looking for.

Kashyyyk was a forest world, famed for its wroshyr trees that reached into the sky high enough to touch the clouds. The trees often made up the homes of native wookiees, you understood. The Resistance seemed to have taken a page from their book, building their base around the trunk of a gargantuan wroshyr. It was built into the wood, several different platforms connected by bridges and held up by supports. The only clear way up was a lift, guarded at all times by a full armament of soldiers. It was too high to climb, too protected by the branches to land a transport. The tree itself was the size of a capital ship - too massive to bring down with anything less than an orbital bombardment. It was daunting, to say the least. 

A frontal assault would be a massacre. It was possible to take the base that way, but you knew that most of your men would die in the process. They knew it, too.

They looked up at the tree and swore under their breaths, seemingly accepting defeat. You heard them whispering about how many men they were sure to lose - that if the Resistance didn't get to them, the wildlife surely would.

And indeed, the wildlife did seem to be developing quite the curiosity where you and your men were concerned. Whether it was the roaming land animals or the giant insects that darted through the sky, there was always some excitement in your camp. 

As night fell, you found yourself gazing up at your seemingly impossible task. The tree loomed over you, silhouetted in the dimming light. Daring you. Challenging you.

You squinted, weighing a thermal detonator in your hand. The supports were strong, but if the right ones were taken out . . .

But how to get there?

A heavy buzzing distracted you, and you found yourself instead watching a congregation of those massive insects collecting in the sky. Long-bodied things with a set of four evermoving wings and massive eyes. They hadn't attacked outright so far, seeming more curious than anything. 

_'Just_ _how_ _curious_?' you wondered.

A devilish smile twisted your lips as a mad plan worked its way into your head.

\-----

The Resistance Base put up a challenging fight, but by the end of the night it had fallen. 

Quite literally. 

The main bulk of the base was now a ruin lying by the roots of the worshyr. The explosives you detonated proved enough to snap the supports, sending most of the structure crashing down. What remained had been taken shortly after, thanks to the commandeering of the main lift. There were casualties - more than you had intended - but all the same the plan had worked. Your men had been understandably aghast when you told them your plan. Even more so when it actually worked. 

You could understand that, being in a similar state of mind yourself. All the same, even if it brought you victory, you vowed never to ride a giant insect again. 

When it was all said and done, the men commended you for your ingenuity - though you suspected most of them wanted to call it insanity, instead. Still, the victory managed to break some of their sullen mood; a balm against the lingering pain of Starkiller. You could be grateful for that, in some small way. 

For a moment, it was almost like you were Captain of Umbra again. That fact alone made you a bit happier. You allowed yourself to forget Hux and Kylo Ren, the shadows of Hosnian Prime and Starkiller Base waning for a time.

That was all brought to an end when you returned to the _Finalizer_. 

It seemed that you missed the action there. The cruiser hung just outside the orbit of D'Qar, surrounded by a full fleet. The wreckage of a dreadnaught still sparked, dead and tumbling towards the planet below. Capping it all off was the largest ship you had ever seen. 

The _Supremacy_. The capital ship of the First Order and the place from which the Supreme Leader commanded the galaxy. 

So why was it here?

You had no opportunity to ask. Orders were to report your victory to the General, so you returned to the _Finalizer_. 

Things were serious and somber aboard the ship, bringing you out of your stupor. You had exchanged your armor for your uniform, the pain in your shoulder flaring again. You were being pulled out of your old world and back into your new one; an unwelcome transition. It was made only worse when General Hux was late to your debriefing. 

Had you been serving under any other officer, you might not have thought twice about it. But this was Hux, who believed in precision and order. Not the kind of man to be late to anything, unless something had happened. So, out of as much curiosity as duty, you went looking for him. 

Or, rather, you were about to when you stepped into the hallway only to come face to face with the General himself. 

A face that was, at present, red with blood. 

He had not expected you, if his expression was any indication. His eyes, blue-green as a storm-beaten sea, widened at the sight of you. You were certain your own expression reflected his shock. "What are you doing here?" He demanded, fighting to regain his composure. 

"I . . ." you stammered, taking in his full appearance. Blood ran in a line from his mouth down his chin. Bitten cheek or broken tooth, you couldn't say. His hair, usually so immaculately kept, hung loose over his forehead. You had never thought to see him like this; bruised or bloody. It begged the question: what had happened to him? "I have the report from Kashyyyk," you managed to recall your original purpose. 

Hux seemed to recollect himself, if only in part. "Good," he nodded. And for the first time since you met him, you knew with certainty that the General was lying. "I'll take it in my office." 

He sounded brittle. Like he was one well-placed blow from coming apart. He ducked into the office quickly, trying to keep his head held high all the while. 

A facade. One that only served to make him look more broken. 

"Are you alright, sir?" You couldn't keep yourself from asking as the door slid closed behind you. 

"I'm _fine_." Hux turned on you quickly, fire in his eyes that died all too soon. He winced, his hand moving towards his side before he caught himself. He did not meet your eyes as he hissed out a breath of air, balling a gloved hand into a fist. 

You were no expert medic, but you had seen enough injuries to guess what ailed the General. After all, you'd sported a few cracked ribs in your time. 

The question was: why wasn't he in the infirmary? Why was he injured at all?

"I can call for a medic, if you'd like-"

" _No_." He cut you off sharply, like you were mad for even suggesting it. 

"Sir," you began, more confused than anything, "you're injured. You need to have those injuries seen to." 

"I've already told you, _no_!" The outburst made you freeze. Both of you sat in the silence that followed, Hux seeming to realize his loss of control. He gathered himself again, staving off another twinge of pain. "I do not need more eyes on me." He admitted, shocking you yet again. This time, though, it was because of his honesty. 

For a long moment, you considered not pressing the issue. It would certainly be easier to just leave your report with him and go . . . but something prevented you. 

You should not have pitied this man. Every instinct you had told you as much. Perhaps when you were younger, you wouldn't have given him a second thought. You would have been more than content to leave him here, bloody and brooding. Now though, things were different.

At this moment, Hux wasn't the fearsome General who had killed a planet. This was just a man, and one who had been hurt by _something_. 

So, allowing yourself to forget your disagreements with the man - all the whispers and implications you'd heard about him - you decided you would do what you could for him. "Let me, then." You said, taking a step forward.

His eyes widened, his whole body going tense. He did not like the idea, you could tell.

Still, he didn't refuse. 

It was all the permission you needed to take an emergency med kit from the wall, bringing it over to the table. The contents didn't promise much, but there were bacta injections and pain killers - enough for you to work with. 

A brief silence fell in as you worked, one that let your questions multiply. Finally, as you readied the bacta injection, you decided to try your luck and ask one. "Sir, if I may," you met his gaze, finding suspicion there, "what happened?" 

You were patient as Hux decided whether or not to answer. Part of you didn't think there _would_ be an answer, just an order to mind your own business. That had been the silent order of things since you arrived, you didn't hold out hope for now to be any different. So, when Hux began to tell the story you found that this day had even more surprises in store. 

As he explained, you busied yourself, trying to split your focus between your task and him. He didn't wince as you pushed the needle into the skin of his arm, speaking without indication of pain. You listened intently as he recounted the attack on the Resistance on D'Qar, of the crippling of the fleet and the destruction of the dreadnaught. It filled in pieces of the tale that you were missing, but not what you were really after. 

"You weren't aboard the dreadnaught, though," you pointed out, disposing of the injection and offering him a small towel to wipe the blood from his chin. It couldn't have been the explosion of the dreadnaught, either; the _Finalizer_ was unscratched. You might have suspected Ren, were he not recovering from his own wounds. So, you found yourself dreading the answer more than before. "How did this happen?" You asked, meeting his eyes at last. 

For a moment, however short it was, those eyes spoke of pain. Of pride being hurt more than anything else. The explanation followed not long after. "The Supreme Leader does not appreciate when his officers fail him. He seemed to think a public demonstration of that fact to be best." The words were quiet, but the implication was deafening. 

You searched for any indication that he was lying, for some sign that this was a ruse. All you found was a clenched jaw and a hardened stare. Not the marks of a liar but of someone in pain. 

“ _Snoke_ did this?” you asked, more to yourself than to anyone else. 

All the same, hux answered you with thinly veiled amusement. “You find it surprising?” 

“Yes,” you answered honestly. The Supreme Leader was not to be trifled with; that much was common knowledge. You understood that he needed to maintain an image - that he held order through fear. You had seen as much before and understood the need for it. What you didn’t understand was the need to brutalize anyone for losing. Especially not when doing so might undermine their authority in the eyes of their men. 

Hux didn’t seem to agree, letting a breathless laugh slip through his teeth. “Such optimism.” 

“It shouldn’t have to be optimistic to think that a superior officer won’t beat those beneath them.” The words shifted Hux’s focus towards you, something in his eyes softening. 

Still, he shook his head. “This is not Andara, and this is not just war. This is politics. Snoke doesn’t beat his men just to be cruel, he does it to make a statement. To let everyone else know that failure will not be tolerated; that the only true power in the galaxy is _his_.” He spat the last word like it was venom. Then, he straightened his back, hiding another grimace as he locked eyes with you. “Allow me to offer you some advice: trust only yourself. No one else can be expected to have your best interests at heart.” 

The concept might have been ridiculous to you, if his tone wasn’t deadly serious. He was being truthful, and it made so much about him clear to you. Hux believed that his position was constantly in question, that anyone around him might try and take it from him. He hid his thoughts to seem stronger, to protect himself from others. 

This was a man who believed that he was in danger every moment of his life. He probably thought that he was in danger now, even. You spoke as you replaced the med kit on the wall, daring once again to meet his gaze when you returned. “If you place your trust in your men, they will place their trust in you,” you offered, keeping your voice as steady as you could. 

Hux’s brow furrowed. “Is that why you offered to help? To gain my trust?” 

The words were meant to be indifferent, but there was something behind them that slipped through the guise. He was asking genuinely, out of fear or hope . . . or perhaps a bit of both. 

So, you answered him honestly. 

“No. I offered to help because I wanted to.” 

Those sea-green eyes narrowed, his body going rigid. “You would offer aid to a man you despise?”

Again, you were given pause when you heard the word. _Despise_. He thought that you _dispised_ him. 

For a moment, you wondered whether you really did. 

“I don’t despise you, General,” you finally said, surprising yourself with the answer. “I may not agree with everything you do, but I do not despise you.” 

Hux looked just as surprised at the admission. "Really? The man who destroyed Hosnian Prime? Who killed all of the people living there?" 

He was trying to goad you. You knew it by the sharpness of his words. 

Like he wanted you to hate him . . .

. . . and you did want to. You wanted to be able to call him a coward and a murderer, to leave him bruised and bloody and feel no guilt. The trouble was that you understood the choice better than most. Hux was now what you had been once - a young General who would give anything to win. You couldn't forgive him for it any more than you could forgive yourself, but you couldn't bring yourself to hate him.

"I've killed my share of innocents, too, General." You murmured, hating the truth in the words.

He shook his head, pinning you in place with a look. "You destroyed a city, Major. I've killed worlds." He stood, some measure of composure returning. You felt your eyes flash at the comment. He must have seen the response, tilting his head as he spoke. "You think me a monster?” He asked as though he already knew the answer. “Many do." 

You took a breath, shaking your head and lowering your eyes. "No more than I think that of myself." 

A few words and the room shifted. The two of you watched each other, the General’s face shifting yet again. Gone was the look of superiority, the demeaning look in his eyes. Now he simply watched you with something that you might have mistaken for concern. 

It was, perhaps, the most _human_ you had ever seen him. It only saddened you that _this_ was what it took to reveal it.

“If this happens again,” you tried, daring to push even further than you already had, “send for me. I’ll do what I can.” You straightened yourself, your words matter-of-fact. Just a week ago, you would never have offered such a thing to Hux. Hell, an _hour_ ago you wouldn’t have. But then, years on battlefields had taught you that nothing stays the same for long. 

If Hux was similarly perplexed by this turn of events, he didn’t show it. He kept his eyes away from you, only glancing your way when he nodded in response to your offer. “Thank you,” he muttered. It was as good a time to leave as any, and you realized just how much you wanted to get out of the room. 

So, you took the opportunity. Dipping your head respectfully, you turned away and left the General. As soon as the door closed behind you, you let a curse slip out between your teeth


End file.
